


Trastevere

by Fabrisse



Category: Zen (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Character Study, Diplomacy, F/M, Rome - Freeform, Vatican
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-14 22:25:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13017411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fabrisse/pseuds/Fabrisse
Summary: When a Cardinal is killed on the grounds of his titular church, Aurelio Zen is tasked with solving the case quietly and diplomatically.





	Trastevere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [innie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/innie/gifts).



> Teen is for lying in bed after sex and some minor descriptions of violence.
> 
> No insult to any religion or person of faith is intended by having the case involve the Vatican.

“Your friend Colonna called about a special assignment. I could think of no one better than you, and _mirabile dictu_ , neither could he.” Moscati managed, with obvious effort, not to look gleeful.

Zen politely thanked Tania Moretti for the coffee she’d brought them both and caught her discreet eye roll. He managed to school his face quickly, and he hoped more successfully than his superior. Privately, he was wondering how bad it was if the Romans were practically dancing at the thought of him catching the case. If he did well, Zen would keep getting cases like this. If he did poorly, they’d send him to Syracuse to look after tourists’ handbags.

“Finish your coffee, man. The car is here.”

Moscati must have seen it out the window. Zen knocked back the rest of his coffee, wishing it were fortified with grappa for support. He managed a quick wink at Tania as they bustled by to remind her that they were meeting later. She returned it.

***  
The car took them through the winding streets of Trastevere, the most Roman section of Rome, at least in its citizens own estimation. It was not a place likely to be welcoming to any policeman, much less one with a foreign accent. To the residents of Trastevere, even the rest of Lazio was too far from the true Latin roots of the Roman Republic; a Venetian might as well be a German.

Colonna was waiting for them in the gardens of the Villa Farnesina; he greeted them both with a warm smile. Zen revised his estimate about how much damage this could do to his career, downward. If he was lucky, he might end up in one of the smaller hill towns on Sicily. He didn’t want to think about unlucky.

“Zen, good to see you again. I told your Captain Moscati that this needed a man of delicacy, tact, and good sense.” Colonna didn’t indicate whether he thought Zen had those qualities, but then, he was a politician. “I presume the Captain informed you of the case?”

“No, sir. I thought it best that Zen hear it with a fresh mind,” Moscati was obviously trying to find a place to sit. The walk through the garden to find Colonna had been longer than he was prepared for. 

“Of course, how thoughtful,” Colonna said drily. “Why don’t you have a seat near the wall? The roses are most fragrant there.” 

Moscati nodded at the more senior official and took himself to a shady bench.

“Walk with me,” Colonna said. 

There was a long pause. When Colonna realized Zen was content to admire the gardens silently, he said, “I am quite serious about needing someone with tact. When you leave here, you will be taken by a plain clothes member of the Swiss Guard to see the crime scene.”

“The Vatican is involved, I take it?” 

“It’s a delicate dance. The crime scene is in Rome, but the victim is a citizen of the Vatican, and a rather high ranking one at that.”

There was a pause. “How high ranking, may I ask?”

“Giuseppe Cardinal Barberini was killed on the grounds of the church where he was Cardinal-Prelate. The diplomatic nature is compounded by the fact that his body was discovered by another citizen of the Vatican, John Cardinal O’Donoghue who is cardinal-prelate at Santa Maria in Trastevere.”

“I see. Or rather I don’t see at the moment, but that’s next thing I must do. See the crime scene. Are there likely to have been witnesses? What time was Cardinal Barberini found?”

“He was discovered just before the six a.m. mass. He lived on the grounds of his church, so there may have been many witnesses.”

“In which case, surely the simplest -- and most diplomatic -- solution would be to temporarily deputize the Swiss guardsman who doesn’t dress like a barber’s pole.”

Colonna raised an eyebrow at the flippancy then studiously ignored it. “Rome cannot bend to the Vatican. And, frankly, the only place more political than the Quirinale is the Vatican. The pope will hold the masses. We will hold the investigation. _That_ seems a fair division of labor.”

“Of course, sir. How many men am I allowed?”

“Other than the gentleman from the Swiss Guard, his name is Braegger by the way, you may use two uniformed constables to conduct your investigation.”

“Braegger. Does he speak Italian?”

“His accent is a bit Germanic, though I believe his mother tongue is Romansh,” Colonna said. “But it sounds very similar to a Venetian accent to me.”

“Of course, sir. Well, then. I shall, with your leave, go to the crime scene and meet with Braegger. Do you know his rank, sir?”

“Inspector, I believe.”

“Thank you, Dottore.”

“And Zen, if you are approaching an arrest, please call me.”

“Of course, sir,” Zen managed not to sigh.

***   
“‘Lived on the grounds.’ Cardinal Barberini had the priest’s house -- which, by the way, could fit your apartment and mine together twice over -- of a large convent. More than half of the sisters were on their way to mass, but not one broke silence to mention a dead body, so it must be assumed that none of them saw him. The three sisters who did his basic housekeeping were very sad about his death. They kept trying to feed me. They seemed to think all men are children.”

“Are you finished, Aurelio?” Tania asked. She handed him a small grappa moscato as she sat next to him on the sofa. She snuggled under his arm and began to sip her cynar. “There is certainly a case to be made that many men, especially Italian men, _are_ children.”

Aurelio kissed her forehead and said, “I think I should stand up for my sex. How are we children? We take care of ourselves, go out and earn money which the women in our lives -- and I’m not referring to you, _cara mia_ , spend on the things dear to their hearts.”

Tania took another sip of her amaretto. “My only surprise is that only three nuns were looking after him.”

Aurelio chuffed a small laugh. “Honestly, my counterpart from the Swiss Guard says that most of the sisters help when he’s entertaining or there’s a local festival, and that he used to have a larger regular detail as well.”

“That makes more sense. The average Italian man needs at least three women to look after him. I couldn’t imagine a prince of the church -- of an ancient and honored Roman family, no less -- making do with the same number.”

“Well, they are vowed to poverty.”

Tania began to giggle quietly and then the hearty laugh, which was so surprising and so endearing, bubbled out. “You can always make me laugh, Aurelio. It is a rare talent.”

“Might I ask who my three women are?”

“Right now, you only have two which is why you seem a little lost on occasion.”

“Two? I suppose you are one.”

“I am. You need to open out more. Sometimes you are too much the Venetian. And your mother, she keeps your house, feeds you on the nights you go home. Do you really think you’d cut such a dashing figure if you relied solely on yourself?”

Aurelio wagged his head back and forth as he thought. “While it is nice to go home to a warm apartment with lights on and a hot meal, I think I could cope. I could send out my laundry, hire a cleaner to come three days a week, stop at the local osteria for my evening meal.”

“And how much more would that cost you?”

“Ah. I do prefer to have some money in my wallet, unlike certain of our colleagues. I suppose Mama stays, then.” They kissed on the couch for awhile before heading to her bedroom. 

Later, when they were both sated and in the mood to share confidences, Aurelio said, “This case could go very badly for me. If I get it wrong, I’ll be lucky if I’m not formally drummed out of the service. And if I’m not drummed out of the service, I’ll probably end up in that small town in Sardinia, the one in _Il Postino_.”

Tania kissed his chest. “Do you know how I can tell you’re not a Roman? You worry too much. Take the lesson of our ancestors, burn some incense to Fortuna, and let the solution play itself out.”

“I’m not certain the Vatican would approve of her. Who’s the patron saint of good luck? Is it Christopher?”

“Yes, it’s Christopher.”

Aurelio relaxed and pulled her closer. “You be a Roman and burn incense to Fortuna for me. I’ll ask Christopher for a quick favor when I’m walking to Saint Peter’s tomorrow.”

They kissed and settled into sleep.

***  
Inspector Braegger proved to be outstanding at his job. They met at the morgue and heard the autopsy results together. Other than two post-mortem slashes to the neck, there was nothing new. Cardinal Barberini had been bashed over the head with something heavy sometime after three a.m. and before the discovery of his body at just before six.

They stopped at a small cafe near the Vatican to discuss next steps. 

Braegger began it by saying, “Those neck wounds could be a reference to the martyrdom of Saint Cecilia, of course.”

“Of course?”

“Aren’t you familiar with the story?”

Zen gave him a wry look. “Ask me anything about how Mark the Evangelist got to Venice. I could tell you the names of the rich families who sponsored the theft, and, if I dug out my school books, might be able to tell you the names of the sailors on the ship.”

“You call it theft, not rescue from the Saracens.”

“I’ve never read anything to indicate they weren’t taking care of Saint Mark. We wanted a prominent place in the world, and to attract wealthy pilgrims, and Mark was an easy way to do it.”

Braegger chuckled. “I’m glad they didn’t saddle me with a Roman. Too much _amour propre_ and not enough thinking.”

“It would be undiplomatic of me not to agree with you,” Zen said with a wry smile. He got them a second coffee and said, “Do you think Saint Cecilia is the point or a distraction?”

“Distraction.”

“What about the Irish cardinal? The man who gave me the assignment indicated there was rivalry there.”

Braegger just shook his head. “That’s the kind of thing I mean about Romans. The rivalry in Trastevere between those parishes goes back to ancient times. I think they battled over the October horse. In addition, it must always be a foreigner who is to blame, and it’s better to have a theory before the facts.”

“Are there any facts I should know going in? Barberini wasn’t called to Rome to get him out of a bad situation was he? Or O’Donoghue for that matter?”

Braegger sat back in his chair and looked down the boulevard to the dome of Saint Peter’s. “You can’t take your religion lightly and be a Swiss guard. I expected the Vatican to be vast, beautiful, magnificent -- and it is -- but I also expected the religious to be humble men.”

“Even the Jesuits?”

Braegger said, “The Jesuits are intellectually as arrogant as they come. But as men, many are quite humble.”

Zen was doubtful, but did his best not to show it. “You seemed to be working your way up to something.”

“Had it been the Irish cardinal who’d had his head bashed in, I would put it down to all the stories coming out about Ireland. I have his dossier in my briefcase. The man never served in his home country, but I’m not certain people will understand that.”

“In other words, if he knew anything about the scandals of the Irish church it would have been during his childhood, possibly first hand, rather than as an adult. What does O’Donoghue do?”

“He works for Vatican radio, both over the air to English speaking countries, but also doing translations for dissemination.”

“And Barberini?”

Braegger shook his head. “He’s -- he was -- an auditor. Mostly, he reviewed the diocesan books. Sometimes, he’d actually leave Rome to help a diocese with restructure its finances. Sometimes a fellow prelate or a bishop would ask him to dig deeply into the books of a particular parish -- that was much rarer.”

Zen said, “So the logical question is was he working on anything presently and if not, what was his most recent assignment.”

“The most recent assignment was organizing the finances of one of the missionary orders. I don’t remember which one off the top of my head, but it’s in the file. His current assignment was at the Vatican Bank, as an auditor. I understand he’s has asked His Holiness to call in two independent forensic accountants, men with no direct ties to the Vatican.”

If he were in private, Zen would have beaten his head against the table. “Tell me we’re not going to have rumors of black robed monks taking out their… enemies,” he finished weakly.

Braegger said, “I confessed this morning, just in case.”

***   
Braegger and Zen each took a constable and interviewed all the nuns at the convent. Braegger got the Abbess and Zen the prioress to chaperone the sisters. After a short conversation to compare first impressions, the constables were sent off to type the reports and they arranged to meet the following morning at eight to ask questions at the Vatican Bank. Zen stopped by Braegger's office to get more details about Barberini’s three most recent pre-Vatican Bank assignments. In Zen’s view, Barberini hadn’t been looking at the Vatican Bank for long enough to be a threat to anyone.

***   
“You’re too thin, Aurelio.” His mother put a plate of _risotto nero_ in front of him. “You don’t eat.”

“Mama, I eat plenty.”

“How would I know? You so often eat elsewhere.”

Zen and his mother had not and did not discuss his relationship with Tania, but he knew she disapproved. “I eat very well, as it happens.”

“Then you are too worried. It wearies you.”

“I earn my living. What would you have me do?”

“Your wife…”

Zen stopped her firmly. “She left me, Mama. If she wants a divorce, I won’t oppose it, but she hasn’t asked for one.” Even if Tania’s husband granted her petition for divorce, there was no guarantee the courts would grant it. Once all those hurdles were leapt, then he might consider asking his wife for the same courtesy. For now, he accepted the usual Italian solution of living separate lives without dissolving the tie.

His mother shook her head. “I suppose you will spend the evening working.” She didn’t even make it a question.

“I brought some files home with me,” Zen said.

“Then I shall wash up when we’re done. You won’t mind the television?”

“Of course not, Mama.”

***   
Immediately after the tour of the Vatican Bank -- which confirmed Zen’s suspicions that Barberini hadn’t been there long enough to be a threat -- he and Braegger went to see Cardinal O’Donoghue. 

“We were planning a joint event for the Feast of the Ascension. He invited me to celebrate early mass and then breakfast with him to discuss which events would be at which parish and how to keep the rivalries on a friendly level.”

Zen asked, “Have there been problems in the past?”

“I’m sure if you looked up the major feast days, you’d find multiple police reports, not just for drunk and disorderly, but for assaults and other affray. It’s not _just_ that Trastevere is a tough neighborhood. The rivalry… it’s so ancient, so deep, that I don’t think I’ll ever fathom it. And you know what they say about the Irish.”

Both policemen looked blank.

Cardinal O’Donoghue said, “We can forget everything except a grudge.”

Braegger said, “But you still can’t understand the rivalries?”

The cardinal said, “The bits that are friendly, yes. But there’s something deeper underneath.”

“Then do you think one of your parishioners could take the rivalry so far as to kill a prelate?” Zen asked.

“No.” O’Donoghue was blunt. “But if I found out I was wrong, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Zen nodded. “If I may ask, your eminence, did Cardinal Barberini ever speak of his financial work?” 

“No, it was confidential. We never discussed my translation work for the same reason. My more public work wasn’t a problem.”

Zen glanced at Braegger who shook his head. “Then in that case,” Zen said, “We won’t take up any more of your time. If other questions arise…”

Cardinal O’Donoghue said, “I completely understand if you need to ask further questions. Unless it’s urgent, could you please call me first?” He handed both men his card.

“Of course, your eminence,” Braegger said, and Zen nodded, too.

At the closest cafe, Zen said, “Did you believe him? That he had nothing to do with this?”

“Don’t you?”

Zen said, “I do. The Romans won’t have their easy answer. Still, I’ll have the constables go through the affray and assault files for the feast days in the area. Maybe that will help us.”

***   
The break on the case came the next day. Constable Ricci had found one man in Saint Mary’s in Trastevere who had multiple assaults and had bad mouthed Cardinal Barberini multiple times. It didn’t take long to find a link between Mister Aquino and one of Cardinal Barberini’s financial projects, though it was one from twenty years earlier. 

Braegger was shaking his head that not one person in the financial section of the Vatican had thought to mention that one of the parishes whose finances Cardinal Barberini had taken in hand, back when he was merely a monsignor, was Saint Mary in Trastevere. The results of his audit and overhaul of the finances had resulted in three laymen going to prison. One of the men, who just happened to be Bruno Aquino’s father, had died in prison from an illness. 

Zen called Colonna on his way to make the arrest and included a brief precis of the evidence of motive. The constables were going to search for the weapons after the arrest. Colonna just said, “Of course,” and hung up the phone.

***   
Zen had to give Colonna his due. The man had a sense of humor. The called Zen and asked him to meet him at the Museum of the Palazzo Colonna - Barberini. 

“The perpetrator wasn’t a foreigner or a citizen of the Vatican, sadly,” was the first thing Colonna said.

“No, sir.” Zen said. He smiled a little wryly at the painting of a librarian made of books. “I had no idea your families were linked.”

“Ancient history, Zen. Or at least Renaissance history.” He looked at one of the other pictures and said, “I’m not certain I care for Arcimboldo.”

“He’s a little odd.”

There was a long silence. “The ministry is, again, in your debt. Surely there is something we can do to express our thanks?”

“It was a murder case. That’s my job. Although…”

Colonna gave a secretive smile, anticipating a rich favor to be requested and bestowed. “Although?”

“Constable Ricci’s diligent research gave us the break we needed in the case. He passed the exam to become a sergeant just over a year ago, yet no opening has been found for him.”

“Ricci, not Constable Furlan?”

“So far as I know Constable Furlan has not taken the sergeant’s exam, and, frankly, sir, I would be surprised if he were to pass it.”

“Pity. Furlan is a Roman name.”

Zen raised his eyebrows. “And I believe Ricci is Umbrian. That may be why other constables who did not score as highly as he did have had slots found for them.”

Colonna let the bare statement hang for a moment or two. “Perhaps. I’ll look into it. If it is as you say, then I’m certain that a position will be found for Constable, I should say Sergeant, Ricci with, shall we say, three months of the difference between a constable’s and a sergeant’s salary as an apology?”

“I think four months of back pay sounds sufficient. He wants to marry.”

Colonna blinked. “Why for God’s sake?”

“We all fall in love at least once, sir.”

“I suppose we do.” Colonna straightened and said, “Good to run into you, Zen. I’m sure you’ll hear of Sergeant Ricci’s good fortune, soon.”

“Thank you, sir.”


End file.
